


damaged but we're golden

by rarmaster



Series: trust and boundaries [2]
Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Coping with PTSD, F/M, XC2 AU, discussing boundaries is a valid kink right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 17:29:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19155700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rarmaster/pseuds/rarmaster
Summary: Sometimes, things go wrong.





	damaged but we're golden

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from [stitch me up by set it off](https://genius.com/Set-it-off-stitch-me-up-lyrics), which is a song that makes me feel incredibly fond for ywkon kranna
> 
> this is a very strange thing to call smut becuase they are only explicitly fucking for about a hundred words, but anyway jazz hands i guess "kratos has a panic attack in the middle of sex" was never going to leave me until it was written so here it fucking is
> 
> also some of this prose is very good even if i'm embarrassed

Truthfully, Kratos isn’t thinking about much at all, quite contentedly lost in the way Anna’s riding him right now. So he doesn’t really have a warning, doesn’t really expect things to go wrong until quite suddenly they do. And it’s—it’s not a lot, it’s not something Anna knew would be a problem, but her hands wrap around his wrists and that’s fine until she’s pinning them above his head and that— _that’s_ the bit he can’t handle, and a thousand things he’d rather wish he couldn’t remember sink their claws into his mind and drag out old memories and—

It’s stupid, it’s silly, he knows he’s safe and he _knows_ Anna isn’t going to hurt him but—

His heart is pounding and he can’t breathe and—

He digs through the broken crevices of his mind and amidst his thundering panic pulls out what he needs, intensely grateful that this is as easy as—

“Lighthouse,” he stammers, and.

“Oh,” Anna says, and, “Shit,” she says and blissfully she lets go of him. There’s a second where she hesitates but then she climbs off of him, too, which a distant hunger in his gut regrets but the rest of his body is grateful for because every inch of skin is abuzz with over-stimulation, everything that had been warm and pleasant now sharp and somewhat unbearable, but it’s much better now that she’s not touching him at all.

Kratos squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to look at her disappointment—even though he knows she isn’t disappointed—and he lays there, just trying to catch his breath for a few moments. Panic still roars loud and maddening in his mind, but he has enough clarity to mumble: “Sorry.”

“No no no, don’t apologize,” Anna tells him, words sharp with an anger that makes love swell in his chest underneath the slowly-ebbing panic. “I think—I should probably be apologizing? What did I do?”

Kratos does not currently have the peace of mind to explain that—because it’s somewhat embarrassing ( _even though he knows that Anna would not dare make fun of his trauma_ ), and he hasn’t even told her really why he’s so touch-adverse to begin with ( _the fact you were someone’s science experiment does not exactly come up in casual conversation_ ), and while maybe he should just get all of that on the table now that would require being able to think clearly enough to find words but coherent thought is like soup in his mind and his voice is trapped in his throat, anyway, where it refuses to come out even to deflect, so Kratos just exhales slowly and doesn’t say anything.

“Okay, actually, take a minute to figure out how to explain it,” Anna says. “I’m—It’s safe to assume we’re done for tonight, right?” she asks, somewhat urgent, and something that might be a laugh bubbles in Kratos’ mouth because she’s not very good at hiding it when she’s horny, and he loves that about her, really, and does not even an inch blame her for at least asking if they might be able to keep going, but.

His head is still full of things he would really rather not taint this experience with, and his mind feels like it’s settled a couple inches to the left of his body, anyway, so even if they could keep going he doubts he’ll enjoy it very much, and—Well he knows enough about himself to know that it’s probably going to be until tomorrow before he can stand even the thought of someone touching him, so. He opens his mouth but his voice has hidden itself somewhere in his stomach, now, which means all he can do is shake his head in answer.

“Okay, that’s fine,” Anna says, and she really doesn’t sound like she minds. “Then I’m going to go—just. I’ll be back.” The bed creaks a little as her weight lifts from it, and Kratos hears her make her way to the bathroom.

That’s fair, honestly. He wonders briefly if he should finish himself, but even if he’s still erect he can’t really feel it, dissociating as hard as he is right now. So his body can figure it out how to deal without a release, because even if his body needs it his mind is not in a place where the act of touching himself is going to be easy to bear, and since he really doubts he can just shut his mind Off for a few seconds, it’s fine. He’s fine. Though, it occurs to him that if he would like his mind to stop painting images of old and horrible memories over his retina, perhaps he should open his eyes. So he does.

The bedroom is dim but not completely dark, one small yellowish lamp on the bedside table providing enough light that one cannot really tell Kratos’ core crystal and ether lines glow, seeing they glow as dully as they do now. The sights of this bedroom are familiar, comfortable, easy to take in. The mattress beneath him is as lumpy as it always is ( _stolen goods rarely come in pristine condition_ ), but certainly beats the sensation of being strapped to an operation table, and—Kratos sits up so he feels a little less vulnerable, sits up to remind himself he can. He could get up and walk out of this room right now if he wished ( _in fact, even though it would be indecent, he has the freedom to leave even without getting dressed, if he truly wanted_ ), and that’s comforting, even though he does want to try and give Anna _some_ kind of explanation, or at the very least not simply leave her without _saying_ anything.

The toilet flushes, the sink runs. Kratos does his best to pull his voice back out of his stomach so he _can_ say something.

“Okay,” Anna says, when she returns. She runs a nervous hand through her hair as she studies Kratos, looking—mostly worried, kind of tired, incredibly confused. She fumbles with a question for a moment, then settles on: “Is it good if I sit on the bed? I think there’s enough room that I can manage without touching you.”

It’s easier to just nod and fold his legs loosely underneath himself to give her some extra room, rather than speak, so that’s what he does. Better save his speaking energy for when he actually needs it.

Anna sits down on the end of the bed so she’s facing him, legs folded under her as well. Kratos watches every movement just out of habit, and though he enjoys the view he’s definitely still not coherent enough to _really_ appreciate it, so he doesn’t do much more than let his eyes skim her body before he pulls them away again, settling them on the painting on the distant wall. Another stolen something, a half-finished portrait of a dog that Anna insists looks much better now than it would have if the artist had been allowed the chance to finish—something about the shape of it, which isn’t _appealing_ but Kratos could understand Anna finding _amusing_ and—

Anyway.

“Okay, so, we can talk about it tomorrow if you’d rather, but I do- We do _have_ to talk about this,” Anna insists, somewhat business-like. “Because—I did something, didn’t I?”

Not a question he has to speak much to answer, which is nice. Kratos nods, though shame paints his cheeks.

“What was it?” Anna asks, no-nonsense. “I need to know so I don’t do it again.”

Kratos takes a deep breath. This is where it gets difficult, but—she asked him what, and not why, and the what is simple enough, even if it is somewhat embarrassing without the why. He’s managed by now to at least return his voice to his throat so it’s just a matter of getting it the rest of the way out of his mouth. He sits and gathers his words, watching Anna crack her knuckles as he does. The fact she has patience for him at all is incredible.

“When you grabbed my wrists,” Kratos manages, finally. “That was… bad.”

Anna blinks. “Okay,” she says. “Grabbing wrists is bad. Got it.” She looks confused, though, and—well he can’t blame her, because it’s safe to say she’s probably grabbed him by the wrist before and it’s been fine, so maybe he should elaborate a little.

“Pinning them, specifically,” Kratos says.

“Oh.” Clarity lights in Anna’s eyes, at least a little. “Okay.” She studies Kratos for a moment, or maybe the wall behind him, almost pouting as she works through her new understanding of the situation. Then she leans towards him, hands on the bed to catch her weight, earnest concern darkening her brow. “Can I… Can I know _why_?” she asks, cautiously. “You don’t- you don’t have to answer that one, but… I just feel like if I know why I can be better about. Avoiding other things that might also be bad.” She sends him a little smile and insists: “I don’t want to hurt you.”

She’s said that a million times now, probably, and it winds Kratos just as much as the first time she said it in such earnest. He’s had people in his life before that didn’t want to hurt him, of course, but he’s never had one who would go to such lengths to avoid it as Anna, and it means the world to him and more. It gives him courage enough to consider maybe telling her—the truth, and all of it, but… All of it is so much, and he doesn’t know where to start, and maybe unpacking all of that now while he’s on the edges of a panic attack isn’t exactly the greatest idea, so.

Something smaller. Why it’s bad without getting into the reason for the why. Just enough to answer her question. That’s a good place to start. The rest he can tell her later.

“Well,” Kratos begins, and then has to stop to straighten his thoughts again. He wishes he would not feel so embarrassed, because vulnerability isn’t really something there’s any point in avoiding, not anymore. Besides: vulnerability is easy, with Anna. They are already naked, physically, how much harder is it to be a little bit more emotionally naked?

…difficult, for sure, but doable.

“You really don’t have to tell me if you think you can’t,” Anna insists.

Definitely doable.

“It’s just the lack of… Hm. Not control.” That’s the wrong word. Kratos scowls, distinctly aware of how Anna watches. “The lack of… freedom?” That feels more correct. “I just don’t enjoy feeling trapped.”

“Trapped?” Anna repeats, somewhat incredulous.

“Yes,” Kratos says, and doesn’t elaborate.

Anna stares at him a moment, then raises her eyebrows, playful. “Says the _bottom_ ,” she teases, playful.

Somewhat mortified, Kratos blushes and covers his eyes, grinning even in his frustration. “No, look, that’s different,” he protests.

“How so?” Anna presses and—her tone doesn’t sound like she’s teasing. It sounds like she’s genuine, digging for a deeper understanding of this situation. More of that prying to figure out what exactly is and is not off-limits, and Kratos _appreciates_ that, he really does, so he does his best to answer honestly.

“Like I said, it’s not about control,” Kratos says, even though brushing close to outright admitting he’s a bottom and quite enjoys that makes his face hotter than any man should have to bear. “I don’t _need_ to be in control. I just—I need to feel like I can…” And this is embarrassing for other reasons, vulnerable and small in ways that are difficult being, but. He trusts Anna. “Like I can get away,” he finishes, letting his hand fall away from his eyes. “If I need to.”

Anna squints at him. “Okay,” she says, though she clearly doesn’t quite have it yet. He wonders if she cares more about why this is a thing he needs, or if she’s still just trying to process how that all fits in with tonight’s bungle. He figures he can help her with the latter, at least. ( _The former, too, just… sometime later, when his brain isn’t about to light itself on fire if he thinks about it for more than half a second._ )

“It’s like… even if you are on top, it would not be too difficult to get out of that position, if I needed to,” Kratos explains, though as the words come out of his mouth he starts to regret them, because actually talking about this is… more embarrassing than he’d considered it’d be. He plods on, anyway. “In fact, even if you _did_ have my hands restrained with yours I could probably get out of that, too, but…” _But it feels too much like times where he couldn’t, with people who would have tried much harder to make sure he didn’t succeed if he tried, digs up too many bad memories that make him violently ill just to think_ around _let alone think_ about, _so—_ “The sensation of being restrained is… bad. I’ve had quite enough of. That. Of being restrained.”

Understanding passes across Anna’s face, now. Understanding, as well as horror.

“Oh, _Architect_ ,” she mutters, though her expression is soft, filled with as much love as it is concern. “I’m so sorry, Kratos.”

“You didn’t know,” he assures her.

“I’m still sorry,” Anna insists. She looks him over, head cocked gently to the side. “How you feeling?”

Kratos thinks about it for a moment, finally leans back on something that’s easy to articulate rather than find new words to explain whatever is going on with his head right now. “About an 8.” As Anna nods with understanding, he adds: “It’ll pass.”

“Touching you’s off the table, though,” Anna says, and Kratos nods at that. She huffs. “Which sucks, I—Would love to just hold you, right now, but…”

Honestly, he’d like that too, but he’s certain he couldn’t actually stomach it if she tried. Which, yeah, sucks.

Though… Perhaps…

“You… could probably kiss me, if you wanted,” Kratos tells her. “So long as your hands stay off of me.”

Anna doesn’t look fully convinced, which he likes about her, likes that she doesn’t just take because he says it’s okay. “I’m… not sure if we want to risk it,” she says, clearly dubious.

“Well, I won’t make you,” Kratos laughs. “But if you’d be willing, I would like to try. See how it goes.”

Anna hums, studying him. After a second she crosses the distance between them, but all she does is place a gentle kiss on his forehead—brief and chaste, but full of love nonetheless. The gesture alone brings Kratos solidly down closer to a 6, and the gentle smile Anna sends him afterwards easily knocks that 6 down to 5. He counts himself incredibly blessed to have her.

“Alright,” Anna says, getting out of the bed. “You want to help me find your clothes in this mess we made, or do you wanna just sit there while I figure it out?”

“If I don’t have to move, that would be great.”

Anna sends him a wry look, but it’s full of love. “You’re lucky I hate your sense of fashion, or I _would_ just steal your shirt.”


End file.
